Tell God and the Devil
by Silverskye13
Summary: It's a bit like Undertale, in that the characters are the same, and have all the same personalities and stuff. Except the monsters were never trapped underground. They work with humans, and in this particular case, they work with humans in a sturdy yet shitty little mining town. The AU that no one asked for - and that is so obscure "Mining Town" AU doesn't even generally exist as
1. Chapter 1

It was raining again tonight, but honestly it always seemed to rain here in autumn. A rumble of thunder peppered the landscape, sleepy and muffled and distinctly _warm_ against the deeper, resonating hum of machinery that bubbled up from the valley and mountain below. Occasionally that hum was broken by a louder explosive rumble, controlled and purposeful in its making. Other times it was the distant wail of a train whistle, either incoming or departing to the rugged cluster of movement that clung to life at the base of the mountain.

Grim and alive this mountain was, wreathed in mist and rain that snagged smoke and ash on it's way up to the heavens, forcing it to hang low and heavy about the tiny mining town. Like the blunt and scraggly teeth of a sleeping giant, buildings huddled in clumps and gaps, a telling sign of their hasty construction and layout. Snaking about them and up the mountain face itself lay railroad tracks, once glittering and new, now dulled with the dark stain of coal.

Ebott the mountain was called, the town at it's base all covered in grit and smudged in clinging coal dust was known officially as _Home_ , so named by the baron who had founded it - who seemed a bit lacking in the ability of naming. Out of either love or spite, most of those living within called it by a much truer name, one that tumbled off the teeth and tongue in much the same fashion as the thunder that now rumbled its way through the hills.

They simply called it _Calamity_.

That's not to say the mess of creatures that lived there believed themselves unfortunate - at least, no more unfortunate than any other mining town that sprung to life in the hills and mountains around them. But mining was proud and dangerous work, the mountains though beautiful, unforgiving. Calamity struck here quick and often and harsh, and so they honored it. Besides, it seemed more fitting for the graveyard in a town called Calamity to be so large and quickly growing - more fitting than any place named _Home_.

When the baron was in town _sure_ they blustered and crowed about this place called Home, but in his absence they shrugged their shoulders and smiled wearily the truth.

Calamity it was.

Now, late in the evening with the rain smothering the hillside, Calamity seemed lifeless save for the hum of it's workers in the mines deep below. The streets, though few, were empty. Businesses had closed already for the day. Some creatures stayed home entertaining children in their cramped houses. Others slept, or spoke with family and friends huddled around stoves and bundled up in blankets.

Most though, most found themselves in a much brighter and cheery atmosphere, warm and loud and comfortable. Voices shouted and cheered. Drinks clicked and clanked against each other. It was very nearly the only place that seemed to be vibrantly alive on such a dreary evening. A place where monsters and men mingled together, one of few places in the world they could do as such without the regular judgemental stares and division that the rest of the world seemed to harbor.

It was Grillby's bar, active and lively and positively brimming with _people_. Grillby himself stood behind the bar, polishing a glass as he surveyed the rowdy mess of creatures before him in a lull between drink and food orders. To his right, a few dog monsters battled against a handful of humans in what was quickly turning into the most rule-ignorant game of billiards in the history of Grillby's bar, though they each laughed and jeered and elbowed each other in turn when something or another went amis. The whole lot of them seemed to be stained in coal dust, gathered in the hard to scrub wrinkles of human faces and dying the tips of fur in black. Against the far wall there drunken men were getting worse and worse at hitting the mark on a few dart boards. Just hitting the board now earned a round of cheers from the onlookers and a round of drinks for the man who'd hit.

High and joyous amongst the talking and laughing creatures rang the sharp plink of piano music, winding from the off-key player piano to Grillby's left. Or rather, it _would_ be a player piano had the mechanical parts for it not already failed. _So much for bargain shopping_. Instead of playing itself Fuku, Grillby's daughter, picked out a happy tune on its keys instead. Wreathed about her stood children, flipping through the only two piano books the town owned, eager to request the next song. And looking rather out of place amongst the grit and joy and bawdy laughter sat the newest member of their little community, resting on a barstool with the evening paper in his skeletal hands, an ignored drink just within his reach should he ever stop his reading to take it.

His name was Gaster, and he was likely the biggest force of change this town had seen since the mine had opened fifty years ago this month. Every day he shambled into Grillby's bar, newspaper in one hand and briefcase of paperwork in the other. In the evenings when he visited, the skeleton monster was always dressed up in a stiff black suit, looking professional and no-nonsense, and about as out of place in Grillby's bar as an undertaker at a birthday party. During the day though, Grillby more than once had glanced the serious looking gentleman stalking his way up the mountain dressed in the same soot-stained gear as the other miners who slaved away in the tunnels.

Superstitious as miners were, it hadn't surprised Grillby one bit when the first day Gaster had made that steep climb up the hill, the miners had chased him right back down again. A skeleton in a mine? And one with the Union to boot! If the monster weren't bad for the miner's souls, for sure he'd be bad for their wallets. The coal barons in these hills were notoriously, and _harshly_ against the Union. More than one skirmish had broken out because of it, and dust and blood had been spilt. It took nothing short than a visit from Asgore Dreemur himself to calm down the workers long enough to let the skeleton explain his business.

It was a long wait in Grillby's bar for Asgore to arrive that day, and ever since Gaster had been a regular customer - glad for the refuge amongst the superstitious sideways glances.

"What's the news of the day, ill omen?" Grillby asked, as was his habit, tilting his head in the skeleton's direction. Gaster shrugged his shoulders, ruffling the stiff pages in his hands as he did so.

"Oh, _ominous_ ," Gaster replied with a sigh through his teeth, "But when is it not?"

His voice was bright with a tired smile as he let his newspaper fall against the bar counter. Grillby caught a glimpse of grayscale photographs scattered about the heavy black text. The only headline of interest that Grillby saw was a disheartening one - there had been a small mining disaster a few counties over. It left fifteen unaccounted for.

"You really think you can keep that from happening here?" Grillby asked, and Gaster shrugged.

"That's the plan, anyway," the skeleton said with a smirk, leaning his head tiredly in his hands, "Just got to finish a few more checks, see how much new equipment will cost-"

"See if old man Dreemur will actually pay for that fancy new equipment..." Grillby reminded and Gaster shrugged.

"Look, _he_ called _me_ out here," the skeleton chided, "We'll hope he at least _planned_ to spend a penny or two fixing up the place."

Grillby couldn't stop the skeptical flicker that glinted it's way through him, "You'd be surprised."

The bartender set his glass down and leaned forward, propping his elbows against the counter before him and lowering his voice just a tad, "Ever since Toriel left him he's been a mess. That's half the reason the mine's in the state it's in already."

By some miracle of magic, Gaster managed to wrinkle the his face in a grimace, "You'd think a man could learn how to keep his own books without his lady watching over his shoulder all the time. Toriel must've been quite the lady I take it?"

Grillby nodded, his flame lilting into a slightly brighter hue as he managed a soft smile, "She was the heart and soul of the place, honestly."

"Why _did_ she leave, if you don't mind my asking?"

Well… _that_ was quite the question wasn't it? And one that sent a shiver up Grillby's spine at the memory. Grillby lowered his voice a bit more.

"Well you see, about ten years ago-"

A shout and the heavy crunch of a breaking table cut the bartender off mid-sentence. Grillby scowled as he swung to face the direction of the noise, sparking at the group of drunken dart-throwers in the corner. It was beyond the bartender how they could manage to both look sheepish and indignant as they dragged a friend to his feet from where he'd staggered and fallen heavy into one of Grillby's older tables. He was a big man who apparently held his balance as well as he held his liquor. He'd nearly cracked the table in two.

Grillby huffed out a smoking sigh, shot Gaster a world-weary look that the skeleton chuckled at, and then went to clean up the mess. An hour or so later the bar began to empty as families finished meals and drinks and the last dregs of some cigarette before braving the drizzle to amble home. Gaster stayed long enough to bit Fuku and Grillby a goodnight after the bar had mostly emptied before he too slipped off into the night.

Somewhere deep and dark and silent, just beneath the haggard skin of the mountain, the earth shifted.

* * *

Author's Notes:

* * *

If you follow me on Tumblr you'll know I've been on some weird and obsessive coal mining kick and that has somehow devolved into a new mess of an AU. Yes I know it's weird. No I'm not sure I care? I dunno we'll figure that out as we go ahaha.

Like all my stories though this one comes chock full of research, so even if this isn't quite your thing and you decide to read it anyway, know you'll be learning a bunch along the way - mostly about the condition and treatment of West Virginia mine workers in the late 1800's, early 1900's. And also possibly about magic-based auto-immune diseases? We'll get there.

Anyway, enjoy...?


	2. Chapter 2

Grillby awoke the next morning about an hour before dawn, as was his habit. In the next room over he could hear Fuku shuffling about, likely fixing breakfast after a night of elusive sleep. He could already smell coffee. It was that warm smell that managed to draw him up out of bed, instead of basking in the comfort of his morning drowsiness a little longer.

On grey mornings, it always seemed hard to get moving. It made his thoughts slow and foggy.

Outside, the world seemed to echo his sluggishness. The sky was overcast, only barely shaking off the inky blackness of a cloudy night to yield to a slowly brightening grey. The air was cold, Grillby could feel it through the draft in the house even if it didn't bother him. And of course, it rained, the sound against the roof seemingly stuck somewhere between a light falling and a drizzle.

Grillby wandered into the other room to join his daughter. She flickered a tired smile at him, her green fire glinting across the glossy black of the cast iron stove.

"Good morning," they hummed to each other, just slightly out of unison, and Grillby crackled a tired chuckle.

"Pleasant surprise to have you up fixing breakfast for once," Grillby said with a smile.

Fuku shrugged, "Oh I'm sure you get tired of cooking for the whole town every once in awhile."

"How long have you been up?"

His daughter sighed, a sharp curl of smoke flaring through the air as she did. Fuku stared down at the stovetop for a moment, letting the sound of boiling coffee and grits fill the silence for a moment. Grillby ran a hand through the flame on his head, and made an effort to keep the worry out of his voice.

"You know, I'm going to Southforge for shipment today," he started slowly, and before he'd even finished she was rolling her eyes, "I'm sure if I spoke with a doctor there-"

"I don't need no fancy city doctor," Fuku chided in that stubborn, matter-of-fact way Grillby had heard her speak in a thousand times, "I'm not sick and I'm not dying."

"Of course not," Grillby sighed, "But even stars burn out if they don't get their rest, darling."

Fuku sniffed and flashed him a haughty look, "Daddy I don't think you know much about stars."

"Well I know enough to raise one, don't I?" Grillby countered, a smirk on the edge of his flame.

Fuku let out a stubborn huff, but made no reply. Instead she focused her gaze on her cooking, content to ignore his last statement.

Grillby offered her a gentle hug and kissed the top of her head, "Oh don't mind me, just worrying."

Fuku flickered a begrudging smile, "Well worry outside by the coal shed."

Grillby let out a long groan, " _Already?"_

"That's just the cost of cooking I guess," Fuku grinned, "And you know the rule. Whoever doesn't cook-"

"- get's the coal," Grillby grumbled, "And on a rainy morning no less. No wonder you made breakfast."

Fuku flashed him a wide, mischievous grin, "Hurry up before your coffee gets cold."

"I'm going, _hellion_."

Grillby just caught the soft crackle of her laughing as he meandered downstairs and into the main dining area. In the corner the shattered remains of the table from last night had been stacked. He'd taken just long enough to inspect it and be sure there really was no repairing the thing before finally conceding to the fact that he'd have to order a new one. In a perfect world he'd have the man who broke it pay for it but... this world wasn't perfect. Coal mining being as it was, the blundering, drunken human could barely afford his drinks on the weekends and the bread he put on his family's table. So Grillby would have to get it fixed himself.

But that was a problem for later in the day - should the rain ever let up enough to allow him a trip out to Southforge. For now, his main objective was the coal shed. Grillby hesitated at the front door for a solid minute, watching the rain patter to the ground and gauging the distance between the front porch of his bar and the shed just off the road. Grillby watched it, and sighed, and then gathering up his gumption walked briskly out to the shed. The rain stung on his head and shoulders like nettles, and sent a stiff chill down his back. By the time he made it to the shed he felt uncomfortable and stiff, and very much like he wished he hadn't gotten out of bed yet this morning.

But it was a quick chore, and Grillby was bounding back up onto the porch again and out of the rain, a bucket full of coal under his arm. For a long second he stood on the porch shivering and sparking and waiting for his clothes to dry and for the chill to wear off, stiff from the unpleasant coolness of it. It took him a moment to realize he could faintly hear singing coming from upstairs. It puzzled him at first. He must have left a window open last night.

It was Fuku, her soft voice rasping like slow burning coals in a fireplace. The song she sang was one he knew, a slow sad tune that took him back to an unforgiving summer that took a toll on the soul to remember. But it made sense that she would sing it.

 _"Oh say did you see him?_

 _It was early this morning_

 _He passed all your houses_

 _On the way to the coal_

 _He was tall he was slender_

 _And his dark eyes so tender..."_

The slow drone of her voice mingled with the soft crunch of gravel. Grillby tilted his head in the direction of the road, where through the pre-dawn haze he could see a figure walking, gaunt and familiar. Grillby flickered a tired smile and waved a quiet greeting.

 _"... his occupation was mining,_

 _lonely Ebott his home..."_

It was Gaster, dressed head to toe in his work gear, looking altogether tired and world-weary - and just a little miserable in the rain. The lights in his eyes shined warmly as he made his way over though.

"What's the news of the day, ill omen?" Grillby called pleasantly, leaning against the porch bannister, making sure to keep himself just out of the reach of the rain. Gaster flashed him a grin.

"Nothing as of yet, and we'll pray it stays that way," the skeleton chuckled, "No news is good news when it comes to the mines."

"That's fair," Grillby crackled with a soft chuckle of his own, and then sighed out a breath of smoke, "You really think all's well up there?"

 _"It was just before twelve,_

 _I was feeding the children_

 _Ben Moseley came running_

 _To bring us the news-"_

Gaster stepped back, hands on his sides as he cast a cursory, searching sort of look up the mountain path - now slicked in mud. He shrugged, "Can't say really. All this foul weather makes me nervous. It's a _lot_ of rain, and the slag up top isn't in a good place for it."

 _Number eight is all flooded,_

 _Many men are in danger_

 _And we don't know their number,_

 _But we fear they're all doomed."_

Grillby crackled a quizzical frown, that either Gaster didn't see or chose to ignore.

"All the old folks are grumbling about rules of threes and foul water as well," Gaster continued before shrugging, "Though I'll admit I'm not superstitious so it's hard to take them too seriously."

"How about you Grillby," Gaster asked with a smirk, "Are you superstitious?"

 _"So I picked up the baby,_

 _And I left all the others_

 _To comfort each other_

 _And to pray for their own-"_

The elemental shrugged but before he could answer rightly, a voice called through the rain towards them. Grillby sighed out a breath of smoke.

"Here comes trouble."

"And here it goes," Gaster chuckled, wincing a smile at the bartender before tipping his rain-soaked cap to the elemental, "Don't enjoy this lovely sunshiny weather too much now."

Grillby sparked a heartier laugh at this, "Oh I'll try."

 _"There's Tommy, fourteen,_

 _And there's John not much younger_

 _Their own time soon will be coming_

 _To go down the black hole."_

The skeleton couldn't have hurried on his way faster, a small skip in his step as he trotted off through the mud and up the hill. Grillby shook his head after him. The monster was pleasant, if not a little bizarre. Quite unlike the man now sidling up to Grillby's now. The elemental flickered a welcoming spark in spite of it.

"G'mornin' Ellis," Grillby chimed, "Lovely weather this morning."

" _Bah_ weather's fittin' for a funeral 'n nothin' more," came the grumbled reply as Ellis stomped to a stop before the elemental, "And so are you if you're not careful!"

 _"What will I say_

 _To his poor little children?_

 _And what will I tell_

 _His dear mother at home?"_

Ellis spat into the mud nearby, and Grillby flickered bitterly against the acrid smell of chewing tabacco.

"That there _cackler's_ bad luck, and we'll feel the bite of it by the end of the season, just you _watch_."

Grillby flickered a wan, unamused smile, "Because he's a skeleton?"

"Because he's _Union_ ," Ellis declaired heartily, "And a _newcome_ , and a monster of death half made of tubes an' cogs. Y'see that damn box he carries around everywhere?"

Grillby glanced up the trail, barely managing to make out the foggy outline of the skeleton as he receded into the grey of the drizzle and the morning. There was a flash of something like purple - the box Ellis mentioned. Grillby _had_ noticed it before, but had never really thought much of it. It was nothing much, just a small box about the size of a sardine can that Gaster carried on his hip, a line of glowing color on the side that always seemed to flash a purple-ish light. Grillby had always just assumed it was some sort of mining equipment - a davie lamp of some sort maybe? Apparently it wasn't.

 _"And what will I say_

 _To my heart that's clear broken?_

 _To my heart that's clear broken_

 _If my baby is gone?"_

"Strange stuff, that monster," Ellis grumbled warningly, "And _bad luck_."

"Well Mister Ellis," Grillby sighed out a breath of smoke, flashing a pleasent sort of grin, "I don't believe in luck to be honest - save the kind that's printed on paper."

Ellis narrowed his eyes at the elemental.

"And where I come from, it's a sight of bad luck indeed to have a tab overdue for more than a month."

"Now see here, I ain't got my first paycheck out of Asgore's mine that didn't go to rent or groceries for the miss," Ellis said defensively, "I was runnin' on nothin' but scrip out the Magnolia mine!"

"Lucky for you Asgore pays his workers in bills instead," Grillby said with another soft sigh of smoke, "I won't even make you pay all of it Ellis."

The elemental straightened, finally rising from where he'd been leaning against the banister, "But you're out of drinks until you've got some of that tab taken care of. You've got no excuses now."

 _"Now, if I had the money_

 _To do more than just feed them_

 _I'd give them good learning,_

 _The best could be found-"_

Ellis waved his hand with a dismissive huff, finally turning to begin his own ascent up the hill, "I'll get yer money bartender when the week is up."

"Be sure you do," Grillby called after, and if the man heard he was sure he was ignored.

"And tell your girl to stop singin' them dark songs of hers!" Ellis growled over his shoulder, "Damn near enough dark omens going around as it is!"

 _"So when they growed up_

 _They'd be checkers and weighers_

 _And not spend their life digging_

 _In the dark underground."_

The fire monster shrugged before turning to reclaim the bucket of coal and head inside. Quietly, and more vindictively than he'd like to admit, he wished Fuku would sing louder if only to spook the old fool on his way faster - and then sighed a bit regretfully as he thought it. The man meant well he was sure, if he wasn't a bit… bitter… about his advice-giving. Honestly Grillby could care less about the tab - he knew some of the men here were in a hard spot as far as funds. Mining was like that sometimes.

But he had to admit he didn't care for the judgemental talking, especially on a morning that was dreary enough without it.

 _"Say, did you see him going,_

 _It was early this morning_

 _He passed all your houses_

 _On his way to the coal_

 _He was tall, he was slender,_

 _And his dark eyes so tender_

 _His occupation was mining,_

 _Lonely Ebott his home…"_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

* * *

Woah hey so this chapter has been done for like a year now. I didn't realize I'd never updated over here? So ya'll are about to get a bit of spam since I've got another chapter to post. Hopefully thats a good thing!

Aaaaanyway! There is some vocab and research in this!

Firstly, the song is called "West Virginia Mine Disaster" by Kathy Mattea. It is beautiful and tragic (as you can guess from the lyrics). Obviously I changed "West Virginia" to "Lonely Ebott". This story does take place in roundabout Appalachia so technically I didn't have to change it but uhhhh now this carries more weight than it did before, bearing in mind things that happen later ;)

Slag - waste rock that isn't what the miners are looking for. There's slag for every mine, and a lot of times you can find where an abandoned mine was once located because you can find the slag heap (a big mound where you dump all your slag)

Rules of threes - this one is more common, but its the idea that all bad things happen in groups of three.

"That there cackler's bad luck" - a cackler is a name for someone at the mine that lets everyone else do the heavy lifting.

Newcome - actually shortened slang from the term "Johnny Newcome". Its any new hand who starts working in a mine.

Davie lamp - its another name for a safety lamp. New around this time period (my ballpark years for this are 1880-1910) a safety/davie lamp was a special lamp that wouldn't explode if it came in contact with the flammable gasses present in coal mines. They change color depending on the air content - I can't remember for sure but when methane is present i think it glows... blue? Either blue or green.

Scrip - a special type of psuedo-currency present in mining towns run by a mine/coal baron. It was common in Appalachian coal mines for the coal baron (the guy who owns the land the mine is on) to furnish housing for miners and pay them in currency they could only use in grocery stores stocked by the baron. It was originally intended to save the barons money (by short changing their workers) but by the time its use was abolished, it served as a way to keep the miners indebted to the baron and unable to leave the land. Normally the scrip could be traded for regular US Dollers, but always at a decrease in value (around .80 cents for every dollar), making it increasingly hard to spend it other than on the baron's establishments. Depending on where you went as well, some places didn't accept the currency at all.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I think that's all my research from this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

As fate would have it, the rain pattered on as the day progressed, grim and grey and persistent. At times it poured, though never quite hard enough to flood the street - which Grillby was thankful for. The wind did shift once or twice though and caused quite the mess in the kitchen where he'd once again forgotten to close the window. Fuku offered to mop up the water but Grillby insisted otherwise. It was bad enough she was running on so little sleep. He didn't want to inconvenience her more by having her clean up after his own forgetfulness.

He so wished she'd let him get her to a doctor.

Grillby supposed it was for the best. With the rain picking up as it was, he couldn't make it to the train station for his run to Southforge. That was one more day he couldn't order new stock for the bar or check into repairs for his table. And one more day he couldn't ask after a doctor. There was, of course, a doctor in town, but he'd been a veterinarian before finding work here and his only _real_ doctoral education was in teaching himself some basic green magic. Grillby doubted the man would know much about helping Fuku's insomnia.

Begrudgingly Grillby admitted defeat for the day and focused on readying his bar for the rush of customers when the mine's first shift got off.

By the time evening rolled around and the work whistle up the mountainside was blowing, Grillby's ovens and stoves were already warm from cooking. The room smelled of freshly made food, the air was vibrant with warmth. Fuku tapped out a slow tune on the piano to drown out the pattering of rain on the roof, and to invite in the monsters that were sure to be coming down the hillside.

It wasn't long, ten, fifteen minutes after the work bell had rung, when Gaster walked through the door. It was still beyond Grillby how the skeleton could manage to make it in so quickly - especially given how he always arrived well-kept and clean, changed into that stiff suit of his. Working in a coal mine was dirty work, and oftentimes Grillby had to scrub what was tracked in by his patrons from every surface before closing. He had no idea how Gaster managed to keep so clean.

But he did, and here he was now settling onto the same bar stool he always sat on, suitcase of paperwork thumped down by his feet, newspaper in hand. Today he seemed distracted, fiddling with the strange little sardine-box on his hip, frowning. The red light it gave off flickered once as Gaster tapped it, and the skeleton let out a bitter groan.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"Pardon?" Grillby hummed.

Gaster waved a hand dismissively and replied with a short, "Nothing."

Hm. Must've been a long day at the mines.

With a flair Grillby turned back to his oven and pulled out a plate he'd been keeping warm. He set it in front of the skeleton, flickering a soft smile, "Well I've got the usual ready for you. We're a little short on just about everything except potatoes, so you'll have to forgive that."

Gaster flashed him a glare and snapped, "I can't eat this."

Grillby flickered a sharp frown. Well that was… rude. Ruder than Gaster normally ever was. Sure, the meal was a little less than Grillby normally put together, but it wasn't _that_ much worse. Grillby was actually quite proud of what he'd managed to whip up with what was on hand: French fried potatoes and some beef in gravy that was a little too much gravy than Grillby would have liked, but it was the best he could really do at this point.

Grillby glanced back at Gaster for some sort of explanation for the outburst but got nothing. Just a very disgruntled looking skeleton fiddling with the contraption at his hip and muttering under his breath.

The bell on Grillby's front door let out a chime and with a pleasant spark he recognized Brigg stooping to shoulder his way through the door frame. The massive dragon-monster lumbered up to the bar, followed shortly by his ever-enthusiastic daughter Hera. The wiry little dragon hopped up onto one of the barstools, beaming as she clapped her hands on the counter.

"Hello Mr. Grillby!"

"Good afternoon _wake-snaker_ ," Grillby flickered a warm smile at her, "What'll it be? An Old Fashioned? Or perhaps a Jack Rose, if you're feeling fiery?"

Hera giggled, her sharp teeth flashing. Brigg rolled his eyes and settled onto the barstool beside his daughter, so comically large compared to the small seat that for a moment Grillby wondered if Brigg might snap the fragile thing in half.

"Just a lemonade for the little one, if you have it," Brigg rumbled with a voice nearly as deep as the thunder that occasionally broke through the air outside, "I'll take that Old Fashioned though."

"Oh?" Grillby hummed as he got to work, smoothly grabbing what he needed from the storage cabinet behind the counter, "May I ask the occasion?"

There was a long, thoughtful pause where Hera bounced excitedly in her seat and grinned up at her father, and Brigg let out a harrumph as he conceded to her enthusiasm, "Well don't go making a big deal out of it - I got promoted to Shift Lead today."

Grillby sparked a bright grin, "What? Really? Well why didn't you say so! This calls for a celebration, surely."

"That's what I said!" Hera beamed.

"Feh, it's not that big of a deal," Brigg huffed out a breath of smoke, "Besides, all the money's going to sending Hera to Southforge anyway. They've got a good school up there where she can board for a few months out of the year."

Fuku laughed, finally stopping her piano playing, "And I suppose you'll make her wear one of those frilly boarding-school dresses? Brigg sir, I wish you the best of luck."

"I'm not wearing a stupid dress!" Hera protested, "And I'm not going to no stupid fancy school! I'm gonna work the mines, like you Papa."

Grillby felt the tension start to build through the air just as surely as thunder after a lightning strike. He wondered somewhat lamely if he should intervene - though Brigg wasn't really the sort of character to like that sort of thing. He would much rather handle his own problems, as gracelessly as that may end up.

"No daughter of mine is spending her life nose-deep in coal dust," Brigg said, his voice a heavy sort of growl, "And that's the end of it."

"For now," Hera grumbled, burying her snout in the lemonade Grillby had set out for her.

The air now damp and heavy from the little spatting family, Grillby quietly got back to his work behind the counter, not sure how best to diffuse the situation. He couldn't say he fully blamed Hera. She was just as prideful and stubborn as her father was, and Fuku was right in thinking the young dragon wouldn't take kindly to the aristocratic air of a boarding school. But at the same time, it was a feat and a half for someone on a miner's pay to afford much past a few years of schooling for their kids - often dooming their children to the same dangerous, cash-strapped poverty their parents were in. Brigg had scraped and saved, working months' worth of double shifts, to keep Hera in the little one-room school in town. This promotion was well deserved, and _just_ what Brigg needed to keep his daughter on track for a life for outside Calamity.

If only Hera would have it.

Fuku plucked again at the piano, and Grillby tilted his head in her direction, recognizing the tune. It wasn't a _happy_ song, which confused him. Until he saw the twinkling of a mischievous smile on her face. She winked in his direction and started singing.

 _"_ _In a cavern, in a valley,_

 _Excavating for a mine_

 _Stood a miner, black coal miner,_

 _And his daughter Hera divine-"_

Hera looked up from her brooding over her lemonade, flashing Fuku a questioning look. Fuku continued playing as though she hadn't seen it.

 _"_ _Oh my darlin', oh my darlin'_

 _Oh my darlin' Hera divine!_

 _You are lost and gone forever,_

 _Dreadful sorry, Hera divine!"_

"That doesn't fit in the music," Hera critiqued. Fuku simply shrugged and smirked and hummed the tune as she picked it out across the keys, improvising more of her made-up lyrics teasingly as she went.

 _"_ _Rough she was! And so contrary!_

 _And a smile like Frankenstein!_

 _Snaggle-toothed and eyes so glare-y -"_

She didn't get the chance to finish her verse. In a second Hera was on her feet, scales and spines bristling she lunged for Fuku, and in a dance of laughter and fire Fuku leaped out of her way.

"I will throw you _and your piano_ out the window, Fuku Fire!" Hera shouted daringly, her breath all smoke and sparks.

"Well I declare, that makes absolutely no sense," Fuku said, feigning genuine surprise, "How are you supposed to do that if you can't catch me?"

With a squeal of glee echoed quickly by Hera's challenging roar, both girls dashed upstairs. Fuku surely in an attempt to hide from the small dragon's wrath. Grillby shook his head and laughed into the glass he was polishing.

"Someday Fuku is going to get herself killed, and it's going to be Hera who does it," Grillby flickered as he composed himself once again. Brigg shook his head, and Grillby was relieved to see the flash of a soft smile on the dragon's teeth. There was a rumble of a chuckle in his voice, a sound so deep it nearly seemed to vibrate the bar counter.

The bell on the door chimed and a small wave of customers came flooding in, dripping mud and rain-soaked coal dust onto every surface they touched. Orders were made and Grillby sprung dutifully into action, cooking and preparing drinks in a flurry of motion. He was a dashing flame, flickering brightly first one direction and then the next, at once balancing half a dozen plates on his arms and the next sliding drinks down the counter to those who waited on them expectantly. Eventually Fuku and Hera came tromping back downstairs, Fuku quickly falling into step beside Grillby and the two of them worked while Hera, now in much higher spirits, sat and talked with her father.

It was a warm night. It was a good night. And though once or twice thunder rumbled overhead, and once or twice the mountain itself seemed to groan in response, it was homely. It was nice. Calamity felt more like Home.

As the night progressed, Grillby very nearly forgot the grim-faced skeleton who sat at the far corner of the bar, somewhat hidden in the shadows that the lamplight couldn't touch. If it weren't for the little glowing box on his hip, flickering a soft violet in the dim light, he likely would've melted away completely into the ruckus of the evening, a single spot of forgettable quiet in the rowdy wake of the mess of miners. It wasn't until the crowd began to thin, when Hera and Brigg had packed up for the evening and a handful of miners working Brigg's same shift tramped off with him, that Grillby even remembered his most mild-mannered patron. He paced back to Gaster's corner of the bar, flickering with surprise to see the plate mostly cleared - though the drink as always remained untouched. Tiredly, absentmindedly, Gaster turned the page of his newspaper while Grillby cleared away the dishes. In the back room he could hear Fuku already getting to work cleaning.

"So," Grillby hummed as he grabbed a used glass from the bar and began polishing, every once in a while, glancing up from his work to scan the room for any more patrons requesting his services, "What's the news of the day, ill omen?"

Gaster whistled a tune through his teeth, turning one more page in the newspaper, "Oh, _ominous_. But you already knew that."

"More rain predicted for this week," he added offhandedly.

"Oh _joy_."

"Looks like they found some of the miners who got trapped in the explosion yesterday. A few survivors."

"And a few more who didn't, I'd imagine," Grillby sighed.

"As it normally goes," Gaster agreed.

A thoughtful silence passed between the two. Grillby moved to serve a few more of his customers and polish a few more glasses. Gaster flipped slowly through the rest of his newspaper, occasionally pausing to open his briefcase and scribble down a few notes. The evening waxed from fast-paced and loud to more subdued and sleepier as one by one more people, monster and human alike, excused themselves from the bar for the evening and made their way home. Eventually Grillby was left with only a handful of people in the bar. A pair of humans sat in the corner speaking in hushed tones about trading shifts next week. One of them was getting married, Grillby overheard. How nice! He quietly wished them well. There was a bird monster slumped over and asleep at the bar, less because of how much they'd drank and more just the exhaustion of the evening coupled with the warm atmosphere. Grillby would have to shoo them off soon. A couple of miners still dressed in their overalls lazily threw darts at one of the boards and filled the haze of the ceiling with cigarette smoke.

Grillby glanced at the clock on the wall, nodded to the late hour. He polished another glass.

"Apologies for my abruptness earlier," Gaster spoke up suddenly, and the bartender flickered in quiet surprise at him, "I was feeling a bit unwell - but I shouldn't have taken it out on you and your hospitality."

The skeleton was closing his briefcase again, obviously preparing to leave. The newspaper had disappeared inside along with the rest of its contents.

"Nothing contagious I hope?" Grillby asked, humor coating the edge of his voice.

"Only so far as a bad mood can be," Gaster smiled back pleasantly, "Magic imbalances and all that nonsense."

"Sounds exciting."

"Absolutely enthralling. Next time you're feeling particularly insomniatic I'll tell you all about it."

The two of them shared a quiet chuckle, Grillby relieved for the clear of the air.

"I did mean that apology by the way," Gaster said sincerely, "I can't promise it won't happen again, but I would beg your pardon regardless. And also, perhaps, a favor?"

Grillby tilted his head up slightly, mimicking the motion one might make while raising their eyebrows - as he had nothing too visible on his face to show he might be. He set his glass to the side and leaned on his folded arms against the counter.

"You have my attention."

"Last night you'd begun to explain to me the event from some years back that caused the coal baroness to leave," Gaster said, "Before we were interrupted of course. Would you mind picking up where you left off?"

Well, Grillby certainly had to admit he hadn't been expecting that particular request. But he understood the curiosity. Still… ten years ago, while a long time for some, was still fresh wounds for others. And with the quiet of the evening settling in, there was nothing to mask Grillby's voice when he started speaking. He cast his gaze around the bar again, taking note of the handful of patrons and how engrossed they were in their respective tasks. Then he turned and cautiously peered into the back room, taking quick note of Fuku. He was elbow deep in dishes and humming to herself, quiet enough noise, Grillby thought, to muffle the conversation at the bar.

When he turned back to Gaster, the skeleton caught him in a quizzical, wide-eyed sort of stare, "I had no idea my question called for so much secrecy."

"People are often superstitious of calamity," Grillby answered simply, shrugging, "And I worry."

Gaster nodded understandingly. He was a miner after all. He knew more than a bit about superstition.

"You're aware there used to be a B shaft up at the Dreemurr mine?"

Gaster nodded.

"I was never in the mining business myself, but I was under the impression it ran just beneath the A shaft, going deeper underground into the mountain."

The skeleton winced, rolling around in the back of his head the particulars of the mine's layout and structure - things Grillby had absolutely no knowledge of. Finally he allowed, "That's roundabout how it runs, yes. According to the maps I've seen anyway."

"Well," the bartender hummed, lowering his voice and once again picking up a glass to polish, "Explosions happen in mines all the time of course. One was going to happen here eventually, especially with Dreemurr running the crews as ragged as he was at the time. We had a lot more miners then. From what I hear the B shaft used to be quite impressive."

"Anyway, from what I heard something went wrong with the ventilation, bad air made it back to one of the vent fires. Some kid was too slow with the doors. I'm not sure. But it blasted a fireball out the mountain like someone had taken dynamite to the thing. Collapsed part of the A shaft over it and wrecked what little ventilation we had in place. And it was so close to the front of the mine - what few people weren't killed in the explosion suffocated shortly after, along with a few of the rescuers who went in after them. Took half the town when all things were said and done. Eighty miners up in smoke in a single afternoon - twelve of them were kids working the vent doors."

Gaster shook his head.

"Toriel had been pressing Asgore for safer working conditions for the past year," Grillby continued, his voice dismal, "We were missing a lot of the newer equipment, still using open flame lamps, over-mining a lot of structural supports. And you can bet the missus was pretty distraught learning there were children trapped underground."

"Understandably."

"Everyone lost someone, and some of us lost everyone," Grillby concluded grimly, "Towns this size shouldn't have a graveyard this big. And the saddest part is, it should be bigger. But sometimes when folks go up in smoke in the mountain there's just nothing left."

Grillby looked out the nearest window thoughtfully for a moment, a bitter taste in his mouth. Hm. He supposed if he'd known remembering this would make him feel so uncomfortable, he might have deflected Gaster's interest a bit more.

"Took them over a year to get the mine working again, took them another year to get anyone to work it," Grillby continued a bit more detachedly, "I can't remember exactly, four or five years in, Toriel I guess decided she couldn't be married to a man with so much calamity reeking off him so she left. Ever since then I think he's been trying to do right by his workers, a little at a time. Trying to get her back maybe, I don't know. The newer shacks up here are better, he did away with the scrip system for his mine and pays his workers in Federal tinder. Even raised the hourly wage by ten cents. I reckon he doesn't have a lot of friends among the other coal barons in these hills."

"Certainly, he doesn't. The hostility is palpable, especially in Southforge," Gaster said, the ridge of his nose wrinkling in disgust, "They've got Pinkertons crawling all over the place, strong arming people left and right. Especially the monsters."

Grillby shrugged. He knew of the discord in Southforge. After all, he visited regularly for his deposits at the bank. It had certainly gotten worse over the last few years - and with the Union making its way further south it would certainly get even harsher before it got better.

"Thank you for talking with me, Grillby," Gaster said quietly, "Really. It's hard getting any of the folk around here to open up, even if it would help them. I appreciate your willingness."

"Aye well, I am the barkeep," Grillby shrugged, "I suppose I should be the chattiest when it's important."

Gaster chuckled quietly, "I suppose."

They were interrupted then by the tired goodbye's offered to them by some more leaving patrons. The dart players had wrapped up their game and their cigarettes and now they ambled out the door, followed shortly by the two who had been discussing their shifts. The bird monster continued to snore quietly. Grillby figured he should be waking them up soon.

"One last question, if you don't mind me prying into something a bit more personal."

"Shoot."

"You said everyone lost someone," Gaster said, his voice low and apologetic, "Did you have family working here at the time as well?"

Ah yes. There was the uncomfortable question Grillby had been silently avoiding. For a moment he considered whether he even wanted to answer.

Finally he said, "My sister, and my brother-in-law."

He paused, thoughtfully cleaning the glass in his hand for a moment before elaborating, "It's… funny how fate works sometimes. He wasn't even supposed to be working that shift. Hera was sick with a fever, and Brigg switched with him so he could stay home and watch her. He forgot his lunch pail, so Ember went up the mountain to bring it to him. Explosion goes off. She goes rushing in to help."

Grillby shook his head, "We fire elementals think we're impervious sometimes. But anyone can suffocate once the air is gone."

"Grillby… I'm sorry."

Grillby shrugged, "It was ten years ago. There's not much to be done about it now."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

* * *

I hope you wanted another 10 years' worth of research and information cuz boy howdy I've got some!

 **In order as they appear in context:**

About the Doctor: There was startlingly little regulation for doctors before the 1900s, especially in poor communities. And a lot of times your small town doctor was also a jack of all trades with veterinary experience, surgery experience, and folk medicine / magic mixed in for good measure.

Wake-snaker: From the phrase "to wake snakes", a mischief maker.

Old Fashioned [ whiskey/bourbon, sugar, bitters ] and Jack Rose [apple bourbon, grenadine, lemon juice ] were in fact two drinks around at the time, though relatively new. A lot of the mixed drinks we enjoy today weren't made until the 20's and 40's, in favor of drinking either cheaper beer or straight liquor. Whiskey was a favorite. The Old Fashioned is widely thought to be the first cocktail ever made.

Lemonade has been around since ancient egypt, so it's no surprise i threw it in here. Cloudy/Traditional lemonade [ ie, the noncarbonated stuff we drink in America/Canada ] is what I'm talking about here. Though carbonated lemonade has already been invented by now [ 1833 ]. Pink lemonade has also been invented at this point [ ~1857 ].

"Oh My Darling, Clementine" is the song Fuku parodied for Hera. Was written ~ 1880s, about a California gold miner whose daughter drowned. Sad song all things considered!

Pinkertons: A detective agency founded by Allan Pinkerton in 1850, rapidly devolving into, basically, mercenaries for hire. They've done everything from strike-breaking to trying to assassinate President Lincoln. During the coal riots of the late 1800s - early 1900s in America, they were hired as a makeshift militia by a lot of coal barons in order to keep their workers working the slave labor they were subjected to. It eventually exploded into, basically, a small war in the Appalachian Mountains.  
The synopsis I'm giving you can't even do justice to what happened, seriously. If I can find you guys a good documentary to watch I'll link you. It was an incredibly intense time for some of the hardest workers in America, fighting for the basic decency of safe working conditions and a livable wage, and I'm pretty sure is one of the reasons we turned so harshly towards "peaceful" protest as opposed to what was basically open war between the lower and upper classes.


	4. Chapter 4

When Grillby awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the window and birdsong sounding, he very nearly thought he was dreaming. It had been raining for days with no real reprieve. _Surely_ on a crisp autumn morning, such a bright day was impossible. He couldn't possibly be lying stretched out in a beam of cozy sunlight as it draped its way through his window.

And then he was out of bed in an instant, intent to make the most of the break in the weather while he had the chance. Fuku was still asleep - thank heavens for small miracles - by the time he was dressed and around. He scribbled her a quick note about his trip to Southforge, calculated his deposit as best he could in the rush, and was out the door at no less than a jog. A few miners saw him on their walk up the mountain, and they waved and laughed him well wishes as he went. Everyone knew Grillby and Fuku were forced to stay pent up in the little bar when the rains were heavy, and everyone wished him luck now that he could finally, _finally_ run the errands he'd been unable to.

So down at a brisk jog, and then a brisk walk, he went. His shoes muddied nearly as quickly as he moved, every step finding its way onto marshy grass and pooled water. But he'd come prepared and wore boots, and though the earthen paste was unsightly on the hem of his pants, it otherwise didn't bother him.

One, two miles up the railroad tracks he went, until Calamity Home had faded into the mist of the early morning and the cluttered mountain forests. There was no train station in Calamity - at least, not for passengers. Only coal. The nearest station was the one he presently walked to, ramshackle and battered by both elements and passing soul, nestled like a decaying grave at the crossroads between Calamity and four other nearby mines who shoveled the black rock from the hills. Often Grillby was the only one at the stop, for certainly many people stepped off the train at the little station, but very few got back on it again. Not that it was any of Grillby's business who came or who went. It was just something he noticed.

His wait at the platform, like so many other times before, passed uneventfully - though this time not in _complete_ solitude. He was joined shortly by a woman and her son, the man a worker from a nearby mine - Grillby didn't ask which, but the pin on his uniform and the shape of his face looked familiar. He was escorting his mother to the station so that she could run into town for effects their little mining settlement didn't afford them. They both seemed nervous, and Grillby couldn't blame them. If they worked at a scrip mine - and the son likely did - the baron wouldn't take too kindly to his business going elsewhere.

Upon seeing Grillby there the three of them struck up a meandering conversation, and once the son was assured Grillby and his mother were going the same direction, he left the lady in Grillby's care, returning up the road he'd come down. Likely trying to get back to his home before anyone could rightly notice where he'd gone. The lady, a woman who Grillby eventually parsed together was named Armani Russo, was a no-nonsense sort, seeming completely unconvinced having an escort of any sort would be worth the effort. She could take care of herself.

Grillby figured she was probably right.

He recognized her accent as one that was familiar around these parts - a lot of miners were brought here from overseas to work for cheap, and she was no exception. Whether Armani herself was a worker or whether she had simply immigrated over with her son, Grillby had no idea - and figured it too rude to ask. But he was certain she'd lived to forget more hardship than he'd ever seen in his lifetime. Still, it had seemed her son was keen on having her looked after, so Grillby resolved, while they were taking the same train to Southforge at least, to keep an eye out for her.

As pleasant people are want to do when left alone, the two of them chatted offhandedly - and somewhat falteringly, as they both found each other's accents difficult - about the weather, and their work. She seemed a bit put off that he was in the business of selling alcohol, giving him a soft and somewhat familiar lecture about the troubles of any substance to mess with the mind. He agreed politely.

He found out she was a bit of a seamstress and was often hard at work patching up the clothes of the workers in the settlement she lived in, as well as sewing clothes for many of the kids running through their little town. She boasted pridefully about a girl whose wedding was upcoming in the next year, for which she would be hand-sewing all the lace on the dress. Grillby found it nothing short of marvelous. He had no idea how some people had the patience and skill it took to sew something as intricate as lacework. He had trouble tailoring his own clothes without mangling the fabric. He told her as much, launching the woman into a hearty talk about the intricacies of sewing and measuring. Grillby could have listened to her for ages.

The train came and they boarded, finding seats nearby enough to each other that if prompted they could continue their conversation. Grillby sat near the window, a bit more comfortable with the billowing smoke that would sift its way into the cars than most others who might choose such a seat.

By mid-morning he was disembarking in Southforge and waving farewell to Miss Armani Russo.

Southforge was a change of pace from Calamity Home, and the shift was always a bit jarring when Grillby entered town. The train station was large, though far from grand - a functional stop on the way to many less functional places - but it mirrored the look of the town. Industrial, calculated, all brick and mortar and coal, stark and stiff as its inhabitants seemed to be, apathetic onlookers to a world that constantly ebbed its way through. And it was incredibly, uncomfortably, _human_. Not that humankind was on their own something to be wary of - Grillby served dozens of them every week, after all. They tended to be suspicious, but then again, most people were. And many of them could be neighborly if they had the mind for it.

It was simply that there were so many of them here in Southforge that put Grillby on edge. Unlike Calamity Home where the number of humans and monsters was somewhat evenly split amongst the population, in Southforge, Grillby often found himself in the minority. Even now as he walked through the familiar space, he gleaned several quizzical stares, as though none of them had seem something _quite_ like him before. Glancing around he counted, outside of himself, maybe five other monsters milling about the space - all of them seeming just as stiff and uncomfortable as he did.

He supposed… _regretfully_... it spoke ill of his character that so many humans in one place made him so wary, and he tried to ignore the feeling. At the very least he made greater effort to treat the people around him with innocent fairness, as if it could somehow quell how self-conscious he felt.

Out of the train station he went, artfully weaving his way past scattered groups of people as they milled about on their own business. He set his eyes first on the bank up the road, his pace brisk and his gaze focused. Once inside the official looking brick building, he let out a sigh of relief he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He waited patiently in line, ignoring more questioning glances in his direction. He knew his business after all, and he'd been here often. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

The teller was one he was familiar with - a lady named Mary-Ellen - and upon seeing him she brightened instantly. Grillby flickered a smile at her in return.

"Oh! Mister Grillby! I'd been wondering where you'd gotten off to!" she said warmly, waiting patiently on him to fill out his deposit slip and recount his money, "Good to see you haven't drowned out there in the tall timbers."

"It would take more than a little rain to manage that, I think," Grillby sparked as he laughed, "Though the sky did try it's damnedest, I think, regardless."

"How's Fuku doing?"

"Oh, about the same as before. Missed a week of school because of all the bad weather. The teacher stops by in the evening to drop off assignments though."

"Goodness that's awful," Mary-Ellen hummed, recounting what he passed her with the practiced ease of someone who'd been working for the bank for years, "I can't imagine what it's like to be all cooped up every time the weather turns sour - especially around here."

"Oh, we make do," Grillby hummed, "Say, you mind giving me some advice?"

"As best I can give it!"

"Got any doctors in town who might know something about insomnia?"

The teller paused, and for a moment the shuffle of bills and change was the only thing to be heard between the two of them. Finally she said, "Well… I suppose we've got one. He's got an office down the street, right next to the barber. But I must warn you Mister Grillby, he'll be awfully expensive to see. Especially given… well."

"Ah."

"I am sorry," the Mary-Ellen said, clearly embarrassed, "Some folks just don't take kindly to anyone who isn't human. There's a monster doctor on the south side of town, uhm… I'm sorry I don't know his name. I don't see a lot of his patrons in here so I couldn't tell you much about him."

Grillby flashed her a tired sort of smile, "It's fine. I appreciate your help regardless."

"Well… I hope you have a lovely day, sir," she said, scribbling his receipt and flashing him one final smile, "And do be careful out there. I hear it's supposed to rain again this afternoon."

Her smile turned a bit more mischievous then, "Now don't come back here Mister Grillby until you're ready to take me to dinner, you hear?"

Grillby laughed, "Whenever Southforge gets a place worth taking a bright young woman, I'll be sure to."

The two of them laughed as he left, and there was a pleasant lilt to her tone as she took on her next customer. Grillby shook his head. Why that girl insisted on taking a shine to him, he had no idea. He was mostly convinced she was teasing him - he'd heard her say similar things to other customers before. It always seemed to catch hi off-guard nonetheless.

Right.

His errands.

Grillby looked up at the sky. Sure enough the once bright clear morning was already turning itself overcast. He should hurry.

The briskness back in his step Grillby meandered through the city, stopping at his regular haunts and filling out his orders. He commissioned a replacement for his broken table - due to be finished in the next week or so. Food for the bar, and more alcohol. The price of sugar and flour had both gone up, much to his chagrin. It seemed it was getting increasingly expensive just to keep the store stocked, and he didn't like the idea of raising his prices.

He stopped by the doctor the teller had pointed out to him - meeting a pale and starchy looking man whose tongue was as knife-sharp as his features. He took one look at Grillby and seemed instantly closed off to helping him. When Grillby asked what he recommended for sleep, he was given a rough lecture on the complex differences between human and monster anatomy, and how the man wouldn't even know how to help him if he tried. It was clear a few minutes in the man had no intentions of hearing Grillby out, and so rather rudely, the elemental excused himself from the conversation while the doctor was mid-sentence.

He didn't have time for this.

He spent the next hour asking around for the monster doctor, with little success and some resistance. Most people had no idea who he was talking about, and some seemed actively suspicious of his presence, as though he could somehow bear them ill-will just by existing in their general area. It was wearying, and eventually Grillby was forced to give up. He simply didn't have the time. The sky shook threateningly with the soft rumble of thunder, distant but building, and on the mountains upwind he could see blankets of rain hazing the air with ominous grey.

He didn't fancy the walk home from his train stop would be a pleasant one if he got caught in a downpour, and the general store didn't have any umbrellas.

So Grillby dashed back to the train station, purchased himself a ticket for the next outgoing train - and, he learned, the last train of the day. He dropped a nickel on a newspaper and some coffee and waited patiently on a bench with a slowly growing crowd of people. Many more of these gathering numbers were monsters, and of the mixed group of them Grillby could pick out familiar articles - overalls, oil bottles, lamps and carbide. These were miners, new hires to some operation in the hills somewhere. Quietly he wished them luck and turned a page in his paper.

It was about then that he heard a ruckus strike up at the far end of the train station, and he peered up from his paper to see what was going on. With a startled spark, he recognized Miss Armani, speaking fervently with the ticket seller. Across the distance it was hard to really make out what she was saying, but he could recognize a stern 'no' in the voice of the ticket master. Quietly remembering that he'd promised himself he'd keep an eye on her, Grillby folded his paper and got to his feet.

"Excuse me," Grillby hummed pleasantly as he approached the pair of them, trying to look as friendly and unassuming as possible, "I couldn't help but hear your distress across the way - is everything alright?"

"He says they're all out of tickets for the evening!" Miss Armani said, her voice noticeably frantic, "I must get back home sir, _must_. My husband is waiting for me, and my son-"

"Then you can walk," the ticket master said, sternly, but not altogether callously. Grillby caught from him the bored severity of someone who was simply dedicated to their job. Currently, unfortunately, his job making sure the train wasn't overbooked, "The last train is full up, ma'am. And regulation says we can't have people standing in the isles. You should have bought your ticket sooner."

"I cannot walk sir," she insisted, "My leg is bad. And it will be nightfall before I make it back - you'd have me walk in the rain in the middle of the night?"

"Then get a room in town and come back tomorrow," came the brisk answer.

"I can't! I can't I-"

Oh dear. She was crying. Like a flipping switch she'd gone from adamant and angry to devastated in an instant. And all Grillby could do was stand awkwardly by and listen as she babbled. She sobbed about not having the money to stay a night in town, and about the medicine she'd just bought for her husband, who was sick with a fever and unable to work, and how her son wasn't bringing home enough money from the mines to put bread on their table. To his credit, the ticket master seemed genuinely remorseful of her situation. But Grillby figured there wasn't anything that he could do about it.

"Uhm," Grillby spoke up quietly, "Is there any other service that goes out to the mining camps? A coach or-?"

"Sometimes," the man said with a wince, "But with the rain we've had all the roads are either mud pits or flooded out. You could maybe get a cart to the next station over, but I doubt you'd make it all the way out to the last stop."

Grillby sighed and ran his hand through the flame of his head. Well… that was that then. He waited for another moment, his gaze sweeping around to the other monsters and humans gathered nearby, waiting for the train. The whole affair had caught a few of their attention, and he quietly hoped one of them would have the kindness in their heart to step forward and offer their seat to her - and none of them did. This puzzled Grillby at first, until he saw the two gentlemen in suits standing at the far end of the platform.

Pinkertons.

But of course. No one would risk moving and getting their attention, not with how nasty their reputation was. Already the two gentlemen were eyeing Grillby and Armani suspiciously, as if waiting for a reason to intervene and assert themselves. Grillby heaved a soft breath of smoke. This situation couldn't get much more difficult, could it? Perhaps it was the atmosphere of Calamity following him, but it seemed things could never be _easy_ on any given day.

He could be thankful for one thing though.

For not the first time in his life, Grillby was glad he wasn't a coal miner.

Quietly he dug through his pocket and offered his ticket to Miss Armani, flickering a wane smile, "Here."

She looked up at him for a moment, looking very much torn between her personal pride and her desperation to get home. Cautiously, her voice watery, she asked, "Are you sure, sir?"

"Certainly," this time he managed a smile that was more genuine, "I'm in no great hurry. I can wait for the morning train, it's no trouble."

Miss Armani took the ticket from him and for a moment only seemed able to blink at it in disbelief. Then hurriedly she dropped it into the bag she carried and rummaged around for her pocketbook.

"Please, don't worry about it," Grillby insisted, stopping her before she could go any further, "Really. Just tell your husband to get well soon for me."

Miss Armani blinked at him for a moment longer, and a relieved smile decorated her face. Then instantly she said, "You have a girl? Sweetheart? Daughter?"

"I have a daughter yes."

"You ever need a pretty dress for her, you come see me. You know of the Appletree Mine?"

Grillby nodded quietly.

"Anytime you need a dress for her, come see me. I will make it. Please," she insisted, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, "I insist."

Grillby smiled, "I would be honored."

Relieved that she had a way of paying him back, Miss Armani bounded towards the platform and disappeared into the small crowd of people. In the distance, Grillby heard the train horn sound, followed by the deeper rumble of approaching thunder. He heaved another long sigh of smoke, running a hand through the flame of his head before resting it on the back of his neck, thinking.

"You know of anyone in town that will put up a monster for the night?" Grillby asked, flashing the ticket master a forlorn, sideways glance.

The man's eyes darted to the Pinkertons still standing in the corner before he answered cautiously, "Not _safely_ , sir."

"That's what I figured."

"You know, she probably swindled you."

Grillby frowned, "What makes you so sure?"

The ticket master shrugged, "Seemed like a pretty convenient sob story is all."

"Well, if she was lying, then that's between her and her Maker I suppose," Grillby hummed, "Anyway… wish me luck."

The ticket master tipped his hat to him and Grillby walked away just as briskly as he'd come. He stepped off the platform and setting his feet by the railroad tracks and his eyes on the darkening sky, he started walking.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Author's Notes:

* * *

I... have a buffer for this story ? For no determinate reason ? I'll try not to post the chapters all at once.

I'm trying to think, and I think I don't have any trivia for this chapter that isn't explained naturally through the course of the plot.  
Armani Russo is Italian, if anyone was interested. Italian and Irish, I think, where the people most often shipped in from overseas for mining, if they weren't simply shipped in from factories or mines up north. About the time this takes place there was an economic scare going on [ 1890s I think ] so there were a lot of people looking for work.


	5. Chapter 5

An hour into his walk the train passed him, spraying gravel and smoke for miles as it went. Grillby supposed if he were any sort of limber or daring, he would have tried to grab onto one of the step rails as they rushed by and let it whisk him away. It only occurred to him after it was fading into the distance that, without any real flesh about his body, even if he'd missed it wouldn't have hurt him to try. Though as exciting as train hopping sounded, he heard it was _incredibly_ illegal, and he didn't fancy his chances against the law - or whatever passed for the law in these parts. He was lucky enough the Pinkertons in Southforge hadn't decided he was interesting enough to badger. Their regular tactics of job threats wouldn't work on him - another reason to be glad he wasn't a miner - but their bullying extended to several more areas besides that, and he didn't have a mind to put Fuku in danger.

The thunder rumbled overhead, bringing with it a sweeping breeze.

He sure seemed to have a mind enough to put _himself_ in danger though.

Grillby had never been caught in a downpour before. He was smart enough to know an unpleasant experience when he saw one. Though he had heard his fair share of horror stories. Rumor had it his uncle had been killed in a sudden rainstorm out west while he was panning in some canyon. And he had a cousin who'd fallen into a water tank at the glass factory back home and lost a leg. Always swore up and down it was the most painful thing he'd ever had happen to him - though there wasn't much painful a fire elemental could feel on any given day. So perhaps it wasn't a fair thing to measure with?

When they were kids, sometimes when they were feeling particularly bored - and particularly stupid - he and his sister would dare each other to stand out in the drizzle for as long as they could stand it. He could still remember how miserable it felt to be standing there shivering, soaked clothes steaming against his cooling shoulders, head flame flickering lower, his whole body aching with cold, while he and his sister stared daringly at each other waiting on the other to flinch. She'd won that one. But he still had the victory scar on his forearm from where they'd done the same sort of dare with ice cubes, and he'd held his against his arm the longest. They were stupid like that. Always had been, right up until the day Ember dared the afterdamp to flinch, and she must've flinched first.

Gods above they'd been stupid kids. And he supposed he hadn't gotten much smarter, had he? He had no idea how far he'd walked already, but it was somewhere between five and ten miles to the train stop for Calamity, and another two miles or so to get back into town. And while he was a fast walker, it would still be another three hours of walking _at least_ before he got home. All because he had a soft heart for a person in distress. Family plight or no, Miss Armani Russo of the Appletree Mine would fair much better than him if she were caught in the rain. Sure, human physicality made them prone to sickness, but she wouldn't be getting doused any time soon should the rain start. He shouldn't have lied and told her it was no trouble. He shouldn't have given her his ticket.

And now he was hoping the storm clouds flinched before he did.

Except storms didn't just up and decide when they wanted to pour. They simply did when they had to. And the air was getting damper by the second.

Grillby cast a pensive look at the sky which had settled on a color like motor oil. The sky was darkening behind the clouds, he could tell by the blue-ish tint their undersides had started to take on. The pale gold of sunlight no longer veiled the roiling sky's thinnest places. There were no silver linings.

It was going to rain. And it was going to rain _hard_. And it was going to rain just as night was settling in. And Grillby would be wading through mud and train tracks the whole walk home - however long or short that ended up being. What an absolute _mess_ he'd gotten himself into.

He hoped it drizzled before it poured. He didn't fancy finding a dry place in the hills to sleep would be all that manageable. He didn't fancy his chances scrambling blindly through the woods while enough rain to fill a valley sloughed its way over him, either.

Lighting splintered a pattern through the sky and running fast behind it came a crack of thunder so fierce it seemed to shake the trees and the gravel beneath his feet.

Grillby walked faster.

He was another hour down the road when the wind picked up, and with it came a cold drizzle so thin it was nearly mist, intermixed with a few larger drops that pissed their way down from the cloud cover. Breathing it in put a wince in the back of his throat, but for now it was thin enough that, when he stoked his flame hotter, it staved most of the moisture off. As it started though he found himself jogging along the tracks, desperate to cover ground a little faster. His strides fell evenly across the planks of wood, and it was comforting to walk on something other than the loose gravel that kept tugging at his feet and threatening to make him trip.

It was getting loud. The wind was picking up, and so was the rain. It clattered across the gravel, slicked the planks beneath his feet, put a dampened sheen on every surface. His flame wasn't hot enough to keep it off him, and he winced as it stung his face. His clothes were getting damp already and it set an ache in his joints and in his fingers. This time when the lightning arced it was so high above him it simply lit the clouds - though the thunder still cracked angrily like the forest itself might split in half.

What a mess. What a mess. What a _mess_. And it was all roaring persistently at him and clouding his glasses so much with moisture he couldn't see. He didn't know when, but he'd started sprinting, and he _flew_ down the tracks now like the devil himself was on his heels, spurring his steps on faster. A flickering light as the sky darkened, a breath of smoke that shredded itself on the wind. And still it was raining harder.

 _Just a little further_ , he coached himself, breathing ragged and body straining past the frigid aches the water brought him, _just a little farther_. Surely the train stop would be in view soon. Surely if he could only make it to the train stop, he could rest underneath the leaky awning for a few moments, stoke himself hotter. Surely if he could rest for just a moment, he could manage the sprint back to Calamity. Through flickering lightning and rolling thunder and driving rain, surely, _surely,_ he could make it. It couldn't be that far. It couldn't be _that far_.

Oh, _consarn it!_ Why had he ever moved out here to the middle of Backwoods No-Man's-Land West Virginia? Because he couldn't let Ember go _anywhere_ by herself, that's why. She just had to up and marry a coal miner. She just _had_ to move a hundred miles south of Midwestern Factoryville Breadbasket Indiana. And he just _had_ to follow her. Because it's his little sister! And it's dangerous for her to be alone in the Appalachian Mountains!

Well, it _was_ dangerous for her. But she certainly hadn't been alone. His first mistake had been ever thinking she might need him for anything. She was capable. Fierce. A white burning flame with a family that loved her, both the one she'd left behind and the one she was building here. She hadn't been alone at all.

But _he_ surely was.

Because of the blinding water on his glasses, or the darkening sky, or the slickness on the ground, or perhaps just because of his own anger at his situation, Grillby tripped. With an undignified screech and a spray of sparks he fell tail over teakettle into the gravel on the side of the train tracks. All at once he was covered in mud and coal slurry, his clothes were ruined, and for a moment he ached too much to bother trying to stand. He just lay in the mud and gravel, face pressed against the metal rail, and blinked miserably at the raindrops as they splattered into a thousand pieces against the ground.

"Alright," Grillby yelled at nothing in particular, "You win. I flinched first."

The thunder rumbled high above him, and higher still the sky flickered as a pair of lightning strikes arced through the clouds.

"No really I give up. You can stop now."

The thunder rolled.

Grillby huffed out a plume of smoke. He was soaked through, and only getting wetter. The ache of damp across his body was starting to turn to a much deeper sting, and he felt a sudden wracking wince. His hit points were dropping.

He needed to get out of the rain.

Grillby heaved himself to his feet. The gravel sifted through his stiffening fingers, and the mud beneath it oozed across them, cold and slimy. With the lightning and his own tiredly flickering light casting about him, he staggered to the tree line, noticeably stiffer than he had been before he'd fallen. He was shivering, and his footsteps were leaden and slow. He trudged through boggy ground, his movements loud and cumbersome. He was lucky he was wearing boots.

Miserable but nevertheless alive, Grillby collapsed at the base of a tree that had managed to burst from around an outcropping of rock. The water ran down the rock face in rivulets from further up the hill, breaking around the roots of the tree in tiny streams that vanished into the grass. Grillby sat down heavily on a tangle of roots, a defeated groan smoking its way out of his throat. He pressed his back against the damp tree trunk, hunched his shoulders, and brought his cupped hands up to his mouth, breathing on them to warm them. His flame was low and cool and dim, and with an effort he concentrated on keeping it warmer than he really had the energy to naturally be. Idly he wondered, for not the first time ever, if he managed to find some coal to eat if it would sustain him.

Feh, probably not. It'd be soaked and hard to burn, and it would settle like a rock in his guts - it was, as a matter of fact, a rock. So of course it would.

But it would _burn._ And it would be warm. Ah, heavens above, it'd be _warm_.

He hated being cold.

Grillby sat beneath the tree and watched it rain, his frigid shivering stilling slowly as the water in his clothes warmed against his flame. If he waited long enough, he was sure he could warm them enough to get them dry - or at the very least, not soaking. There was still rain filtering down from the leaves above him, but the sturdy tree he sat beneath was tall and old and thick with woven branches. He might as well be walking once again through the drizzle, for all the water that made it down to him.

"What a mess," Grillby muttered, running his hand through the head of his flame, "Fuku's going to kill me for being late."

When he felt his hands were warm enough again, he rummaged through his shirt pocket, pulling out a tin of tobacco and some hopelessly drenched cigarette paper.

"Okay, listen, I know I was being stupid," Grillby called out to the rain, "And I get that, _maybe_ , this is some sort of comeuppance for that. But did you _really_ have to take my cigs? I only have so many comforts, you know."

Lightning struck in the distance, a wicked tail of it from sky to ground that stabbed like a spear high up on the mountain. The brightness of it burned the pattern into his vision, and the air-shaking thunder burned it into his soul.

"Yeah, whatever. Ornery blowhard."

If the weather had any more returns for him, for the moment, it seemed to keep them to itself. Grillby pinched a bit of the tobacco free of the tin and rolled it around in his fingers for a moment thoughtfully, watching the rain continue to pour relentlessly, before tossing the little ball of bitter leaves into his mouth. The next breath he exhaled was coated in acrid-smelling smoke, and he watched it swirl lazily before the breeze caught it and scattered it off. He felt a little less tense, but no less dismal.

He supposed this was what he got for trying so hard to be nice. The extra running to try and get Fuku some medicine - medicine she didn't even want - ultimately fruitless. Giving Miss Armani his train ticket even knowing the storm was coming. Trying not to be a bother to the miners in Southforge so the Pinkertons wouldn't make trouble. But what else was he to do? He tried his best to be a pleasant person. He was bad at it, but he tried his best.

The train would've reached that last little station an hour ago or more - honestly his time keeping wasn't the best when he couldn't see the sun. Surely Fuku had noticed by now he was late, and that was the last train for the evening, and it was raining like God decided The Flood should happen twice. She probably thought he'd gotten his lights knocked out in Southforge or drowned on the way home. Reluctantly he admitted to himself he nearly _had_ managed to drown himself on the way home.

It didn't matter, he told himself. He'd wait here until the rain let up some, and by then his clothes would be mostly dry. He could dash the rest of the way to the leaky little train stop, and then dash the rest of the way home. It might take him all night. It might be one of the most miserable things he'd ever accomplished. But he could manage it.

Eventually.

But for now, he had nothing to do but wait.

The evening got darker, though the backsplash of lightning would at times brighten it again. The rain poured. Grillby mulled over his misfortune, and then again back around to what little luck he must still have. In his boredom he turned over rocks with the toe of his boots, then picked them up at tossed them and listened to hear if he managed to ping them off the railroad tracks - most of the time he missed. And when that failed to entertain him, he paced around the base of the tree, sometimes sweeping out a boot to kick away a clod of mud.

He had wound himself up so restless he was about to go ahead and run through the downpour, when he thought he caught the sound of something. At first, he couldn't place it, and over the persistent loudness of falling rain, he nearly convinced himself he hadn't heard anything at all. Until it was closer, and just a little bit louder, and it wilted and turned in the air just out of his ability to parse words.

Someone was singing.

Out here? _Out here?_ In the middle of a thunderstorm? In the middle of nowhere? Halfway to nightfall? But sure enough, the sound drummed on just beneath the sound of the falling rain. When the wind shifted, he caught the tune of it, though it hummed so low the words were nothing more than syllables. But whoever was singing was walking towards him, and soon he could catch the tune and bits of the lyrics that tumbled across it.

 _"Wh…... orm comes_

 _...on… un for cov…._

 _Whe… at… orm comes_

 _...on… un for cov…."_

Grillby tilted his head, trying to hear it a little better. He called out, "Hello?"

 _"...on't ...un ...om th' comin' storm, there ain't no use in runnin'."_

"Hello!" Grillby called, "Hey! Can you hear me?"

Whoever they were, they didn't seem to. And he couldn't see them - though he supposed that wasn't a wonder. The rain and the dark obscured everything from view after a dismally small distance.

 _"When that rain falls,_

 _Let it wash away_

 _When that rain falls_

 _Let it wash away_

 _When that rain falls_

 _Let it wash away_

 _Let it wash away, that fallin' rain, the tears and the trouble…"_

Grillby dared to step a bit from his shelter, only to hiss at the falling water that immediately drenched his head and shoulders. He leaped back beneath the tree again and stood on the very tips of his toes, squinting out through the rain to try to see whoever must be coming.

 _"When those lights flash_

 _Then you'll hear that thunder roar_

 _When those lights flash_

 _Hear that thunder roar_

 _When those lights flash_

 _Hear that thunder roar_

 _Will you listen to that thunder roar and let your spirit soar?_

 _When that love calls -"_

There! Grillby could see a flickering light. Whoever it was, they walked in the center of the train tracks. He could barely make out a tall silhouette, and of course the flashing lamp as it swung back and forth in time with their steps. The voice, too, he found familiar. Though he couldn't place it. Perhaps if they were speaking - whoever it was, he got the distinct feeling he'd never heard them sing. It wasn't an unpleasant voice either. A soft tenor that lilted and crooned.

 _"-en that love calls_

 _Will you open up your door?_

 _You gotta stand on up and let it in, you gotta let love through your door._

 _When that storm comes_

 _Don't run for cover_

 _When that storm comes…_

 _Don't run for cover_

 _When that storm comes…_

 _Don't run for cover…"_

The person stopped walking abruptly, and when they did, so did their singing. Emboldened by how close they were, Grillby called out again.

"Hey! Excuse me, sir? A little help! If you would be so kind!"

The person swung to face his direction, and much to Grillby's relief, with a brisk pace they started walking towards him. He heaved out a heavy sigh and laughed. He had no idea why this person was out so late in the evening walking down the tracks, but he'd never been so happy to see a stranger in his life. Or, no wait. As they got closer, he noticed alongside their lamp there was another flashing light, purple-red and weakly flashing at their hip.

"Well well well," they called, "What's the news of the day, ill-omen?"

It was Gaster.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

* * *

Ahhh I forgot to post this here [ and on Deviantart ]. Really I forgot to post this chapter everywhere but AO3. I might actually just, start only posting over there. I feel like it's a little more intimate. FF seems pretty cold and unresponsive sometimes. And I really don't like how badly it deletes my formatting and all attempts to post outside links.

We'll save that musing for another day.

The song is "Storm Comin' " by The Wailing Jennys. If I have ever heard a song that sounded like a thunder storm was rolling through, it would be that one. I definitely recommend giving it a listen !

Aside from that, I don't think I have any fun trivia or vocab or anything for this chapter, and we probably won't for awhile :V


End file.
